by Jayne Castel
She felt unbelievable. They fitted together perfectly.
Maximus took her hard on that table—there was no gentleness in it at all. Each thrust bordered on violence, and yet she moved against him with a ferocity equal to his own. The table rocked and thudded against the stone floor, yet neither of them paid it any mind. Heather’s head fell back to expose the long, pale column of her throat. Those magnificent breasts rose each time he drove into her. She wrapped her legs about his hips, drawing him even deeper with each plunge.
He felt her body begin to shake and tremble, felt the rush of wet heat deep inside her, but he didn’t stop. Instead, her response sent him over the edge.
And for the first time since the cursing, he forgot who he was. All the long, weary years of his life faded, and the future ceased to matter. All he cared about, all he wanted in life, was right here with him.
His climax rose swiftly then, driving him into oblivion. His vision darkened, and for a moment, he thought he might black out as the storm hit him. He reared back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, pleasure beating through him like a battle drum. His raw cry joined hers, reverberating off the walls.
“I think the whole castle heard us, carissima.”
Heather stirred from where she’d sprawled back on the table, breathing hard as she sought to recover from the tempest that had just swept over them both.
Frankly, she couldn’t care less if everyone as far as Stonehaven had heard them.
“Carissima,” she panted. “What’s that?”
“It means ‘dearest’ in Latin.”
Heather gazed up at him, warmth suffusing her. He was still buried inside her, and she never wanted him to leave. A feeling of completeness made tears sting the back of her eyes. She’d been on the verge of weeping earlier, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold back now.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rough as he reached for her. Heather let him pull her up, and then she sank into his embrace, feeling his arms go around her. Leaning against his bare chest, which was now damp with sweat, and listening to the thunder of his heart, she was loath to ever let go.
Her lips traced the line of his collar bone, resting in the hollow at the base of his throat. “Immortality and Iain Galbraith be damned … ye are mine Maximus,” she whispered. “And I am yers forever … remember that.”
XXXVI
THE BATTLE HAMMER
BLAIR GALBRAITH STRAIGHTENED up from beating the blade, sweat pouring off him.
Enough. He’d worked hard on the new claidheamh-mòr the Wallace had commissioned him to craft, but it was almost dark outside. Since the arrival of the freedom fighter, Blair had been busier than ever. And as his apprentice had recently left to set up his own forge in Stonehaven, Galbraith was running the forge alone. Supper had come and gone, and his belly now growled.
Shutting down his forge, Blair stepped outside into the wide expanse of cobbles. His workshop sat next to a row of storehouses on the eastern edge of the lower ward. Across the bailey, he spied the chaplain emerging from the entrance to his lodgings, a cramped collection of chambers that sat below the keep’s chapel.
The crenelated roof of the chapel, illuminated by torchlight, was still blackened in places, remnants of the Wallace’s liberation of Dunnottar nearly five years earlier. The English garrison had been overwhelmed, and those left had sought sanctuary in the chapel. But the Wallace had shown no mercy, burning the lot of them alive.
Blair remembered that day well. He’d never forget the blood-curdling screams of dying men that shook the heavens.
Reaching the bottom of the steps, Father Finlay cast a nervous look in Blair’s direction before raising the hood of his robes and hurrying off.
Blair watched the chaplain disappear into the gloaming, a hard smile stretching his face. Father Finlay was wary of him these days after an altercation between them. The chaplain hadn’t liked the interest Blair had been showing in one of the lasses who served him. Apparently, the girl had complained to the chaplain that Blair had cornered her and taken liberties.
Blair’s smile faded. Bitch. A punch to the nose had sent the good Father running. The chaplain then complained to the laird, and David had given Blair a half-hearted scolding. Fortunately, David De Keith had a similar view of women as Blair did.
Rubbing a tense muscle in his shoulder, the weaponsmith turned left, heading toward the postern door that would lead him to the upper ward. He planned to meet his brother in the guard hall there. Iain had promised he’d keep back some supper for him.
Blair scowled. His brother’s unexpected return had shocked him. He still couldn’t believe Iain had been alive all this while and never bothered to let him know.
The blacksmith had almost reached the postern door when movement on the walls above caught his eye.
He halted, his gaze traveling to where a woman with long brown hair, clad in a becoming emerald-green kirtle, made her way back to the keep. And then, a few moments later, a tall, dark-haired man clad in black and green walked into view. As Blair watched, the guard halted, his gaze tracking the woman’s path.
Blair stilled, his mouth flattening into a thin line.
Iain needs to know about this.
Tearing his gaze from the couple above, he strode to the postern door, flung it open, and hurried upstairs.
Iain was seated at a table by the door when Blair entered the guard’s mess. Two empty jugs of ale sat before him, and he was halfway through a third. There was no sign of the supper he’d promised his brother.
Crossing the hall, Blair pulled up a stool opposite Iain and sat down. “I need to tell ye something,” he announced, “about Heather.”
Iain had been lifting a tankard of ale to his lips but halted mid-way at his wife’s name. “What of her?”
Blair held his gaze, savoring the moment. He realized then that as much as he wanted revenge upon Heather, he also longed to injure his brother. In his time away from Dunnottar, Iain had never gotten in touch—not even once. He’d let Blair think he was dead.
Remembering this, Blair leaned toward Iain. “She has betrayed ye, brother.”
Iain’s face hardened, his fingers tightening around the tankard.
“I’ve just seen her emerge from the northern guard tower on the upper ward,” Blair pressed on. “She was flushed, her hair and clothing in disarray … and a man followed her outside and watched her walk back into the keep.”
Something feral moved in Iain’s green eyes. “Who?”
“One of the Dunnottar Guard … the one ye often see with Captain Gaius.”
Iain slammed down his tankard, the dull thud echoing over the hall. His reaction told Blair that Iain knew the man.
“Is he the one who intervened last week?” Blair asked.
Iain nodded, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Interfered.”
“Well … it appears he’s humping yer wife.”
Iain’s face reddened, fury smoldering in his eyes.
Blair bit back a smile. Heather was done for. This was his chance to get even against the woman who’d robbed him of his brother.
Leaning forward, Blair met his brother’s eye. “She’s humiliated ye, Iain,” he murmured. “The question is … what are ye going to do about it?”
“You took your time to track me down,” Cassian greeted Maximus with a scowl. “Didn’t Heather pass on my message?”
Maximus cast his friend an apologetic smile. “She did … but I was delayed.” Without further explanation, he crossed the few feet between them and lowered himself onto a stool before the table.
Seated next to Cassian, Draco poured a cup of wine and handed it to Maximus. His dark eyes held a gleam.
“What’s happened?” Maximus asked, taking the cup. His gaze flicked between his friends’ faces; something was most definitely afoot. “Are we celebrating something?”
“We’ve solved another line of the riddle,” Draco drawled. “If you’re interested?”
Max
imus stilled. The storm he’d just experienced with Heather still warmed his veins. He’d been able to think about little else. However, Draco’s words brought him up short. In an instant, his heart started to pound. “What?” His attention then shifted to the closed history volume between them. “Was it in there?”
Cassian’s mouth quirked. “No … we discovered it during supper. The ‘Hammer’ that will strike this stronghold is none other than a great battering ram.”
Maximus’s gaze narrowed. “Owned by whom?”
“Shaw Irvine … De Keith’s trouble-making neighbor,” Draco replied. He was grinning now. “He’s named his new siege weapon ‘The Battle Hammer’, and threatens to bash his way into Dunnottar with it unless De Keith cedes land to him.”
“And will he?”
Draco shook his head.
“David De Keith insists that his clan are the rightful owners of the land that Irvine demands,” Cassian answered, his voice tight with urgency. “He won’t be negotiating with him.”
Excitement quickened within Maximus. “Finally, after all these years … the riddle is revealing itself to us,” he breathed, holding his cup aloft.
A slow smile spread across Cassian’s face in response, as he and Draco both raised their own cups of wine. “It is time.”
“Where have ye been?” Iona De Keith lowered her sewing and cast a long look over her daughter.
“Just out for a walk on the ramparts, Ma,” Heather replied with a breezy smile. “It was such a fine evening that I wanted to watch the sun set.”
“Ye shouldn’t wander alone lass,” her father’s voice rumbled across the solar. He sat in the corner, near the fire, his lame leg up on a settle and a cup of wine in hand. “Not while Iain still resides here.”
“Don’t worry, I was careful.” Heather glanced away. “Where’s Aila?”
“She’s with Lady Gavina,” her mother replied, still surveying Heather.
It was hard not to wilt under her mother’s stare. She had eyes like boning knives sometimes.
“Ye are flushed,” her mother observed, “and yer hair is tangled.”
“It’s windy up on the ramparts,” Heather answered, guilt tightening her lower belly. She didn’t like lying to her parents. Yet she could hardly tell them what had just transpired with Maximus.
She was still reeling in the aftermath herself.
She’d sought him out on instinct, and hadn’t been prepared for the storm that had followed.
What she felt for Maximus still shocked her.
And now she knew he felt the same way. Once Iain left Dunnottar—and he would eventually—they could make a future together. She would talk to Father Finlay—surely there was a way to get the marriage annulled. She and Iain had been estranged for a while now.
Lowering herself into a chair opposite her mother, Heather picked up her embroidery. She needed something to busy herself with, but all the same, it was difficult to concentrate.
She kept remembering what had happened in the guard room, how Maximus had taken her. Images rushed back of the way he’d yanked down her kirtle before feasting on her sensitized nipples, and of how he’d lost control as he plowed her.
Heat blossomed between her thighs at the memory, and Heather clamped them tightly together. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts.
“Is the laird still in a foul mood over Irvine’s warmongering?” Heather asked, in an attempt to steer their focus away from herself.
“I assume so,” her father replied. His grey eyes were shadowed. “We left just after ye did.”
Of course, they had. In her urgency to catch up with Cassian—and with the events that had followed—Heather had forgotten.
“Irvine is a weasel.” Her mother sniffed, stabbing her needle into the lèine she was sewing. “His father forged peace with us, and now he’s breaking it.”
“Surely he won’t attack us though?” Heather asked, worry clouding the euphoria that had carried her down from the tower and back to her parents’ chambers. “Lady Gavina’s his sister … he wouldn’t want to put her in danger.”
Heather had grown fond of Gavina since her return to Dunnottar; the lady would understandably be upset by her brother’s actions.
“Shaw Irvine was against his sister’s marriage from the outset, and he isn’t the man his father was,” Donnan De Keith replied. He was frowning now. “I’m afraid it isn’t only the English we’ve got to worry about.”
XXXVII
YE WILL PAY
LADY GAVINA HEAVED a sigh and put down her shuttle. Upon the loom before her, the scene of Dunnottar was slowly growing, although Gavina appeared to get little pleasure from her talent.
“My Lady?” Heather lowered the spindle she was winding wool onto, her gaze settling upon the blue-clad figure seated by the window. “Is something amiss?”
Dusk was falling over Dunnottar. It was rare for Heather to join Lady Gavina in her solar at this hour, yet it had been the warmest day of the year so far, and her mistress had called for her after supper.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the hammering of iron and the sound of men’s grunts and shouts intruded through the open window. Irvine’s missive had caused a flurry of activity in Dunnottar. The laird was determined that his brother-by-marriage wouldn’t best him. As such, he’d put the Guard to work shoring up the castle’s defenses. Naturally, the Wallace’s men were assisting.
Heather had been happy to go to Lady Gavina this eve, for she enjoyed her company. It was hard to keep a smile off her face, for now that she knew how Maximus felt, and that he wanted to be with her, she had a clearer idea about what her future held.
The events of the day before had given her hope.
However, something wasn’t right with her mistress this evening. Although she’d often sensed Gavina’s melancholy at unguarded moments, it had never been quite as evident as now.
“I worry about relations between the De Keiths and the Irvines,” Gavina murmured. She shifted her gaze to the view beyond the window, to where the last rays of sunlight had set the sky ablaze. “I fear my brother is on the verge of ruining everything.”
“Shaw must be put in his place, Gavina,” the woman across the room spoke up. Lady Elizabeth had joined them. Heather rarely saw her during the day as she spent much of her time with her young son, Robbie. “His behavior is outrageous.”
“I’ve sent word to him,” Gavina replied, her face growing taut, “pleading with him to honor the peace our father worked so hard to achieve.”
Lady Elizabeth didn’t reply, although she watched Lady Gavina, a furrow between her eyebrows.
“What does our laird have to say about the situation?” Heather asked when the silence drew out.
Lady Gavina’s gaze guttered. “He blames me,” she whispered. “This morning he accused me of being in league with my brother … he thinks our match was all part of an elaborate plan to bring down the De Keiths.”
“That’s preposterous!” Lady Elizabeth halted her sewing. “Ye wed him in good faith.”
Lady Gavina’s throat bobbed. “Aye … but David felt pressured … by both Robert and my father. I was never his choice of bride.”
Heather sucked in a surprised breath at the woman’s candor.
“Robert was acting in the best interests of his clan, as was yer father,” Elizabeth said after a pause, her tone sharpening. “But Shaw and David can’t see past the old hate.”
Lady Gavina sighed. “Aye, with the English threatening us again, ye’d think we Scots would band together.”
Lady Elizabeth’s full lips pursed. “Wallace has done his best to rally us under one banner,” she replied. “But while Scots fight Scots, invaders will always best us.”
Darkness had fallen when Heather finally left Lady Gavina’s solar. Usually, she enjoyed her mistress’s company, but the subject of this eve’s conversation had left her mood subdued.
She hadn’t realized just how unhappy the laird and his wife were together, and Shaw
Irvine’s betrayal had succeeded in making things even more difficult.
No wonder her mistress seemed subdued these days.
Outdoors, the sounds of industry had faded with the setting of the sun.
Passing through the gallery that led from Lady Gavina’s rooms toward the tower stairs, Heather reflected on the importance of finding the right partner in life.
Lady Gavina hadn’t chosen her match—but Heather had no such excuse.
And if it wasn’t for Iain, she and Maximus could be open with others about their feelings for each other. They could have asked the chaplain to wed them yesterday eve.
But she was still a wedded woman, and she hadn’t been able to slip out of the keep to talk to Father Finlay.
This was all because she’d thrown herself into a relationship with Iain Galbraith without a thought to who he really was. She’d been taken in by his arrogance, his charm. She’d been such a fool that she’d even liked his dominance, for it had made her feel wanted, protected in the beginning.
How she wished she could travel back in time and tell her old self to stay away from that man.
But would she have listened?
She’d been so willful then, so sure of herself.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the large figure step out from behind one of the thick stone columns.
An instant later, Iain Galbraith loomed before her.
Heather skidded to a halt, a scream rising in her throat.
However, Iain lunged forward and grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “Call for help, and I’ll go upstairs and slit yer Da’s neck … like I should have done a week ago.”
Fear clamped across Heather’s throat, and she swallowed the scream. The menace in Iain’s voice was real. She believed his threat.